The morning breeze still carried a trace of chill, yet the training grounds basked in brilliant sunlight. Beneath the pale golden rays, beads of sweat clinging to Dorian's collar shimmered like metal.
When their eyes met, she smiled. And then—without a hint of hesitation—Rosalind stepped toward him.
The guards chatting in the corner fell silent the moment they noticed her. Bryden even flinched a little, while Keiran stood stiffly upright, as if being reprimanded. Only Rowan inclined his head in calm greeting, as usual.
"Good day, gentlemen." Rosalind said, her voice light as a breeze, yet laced with quiet authority. "It seems I'm late. The match is already over, isn't it?"
"Goodmorning... Your Grace." Keiran stammered, his tone a touch nervous. "We were just… doing a bit of training."
Bryden chuckled awkwardly, trying to mask his discomfort. "Training indeed, my lady. But... His Grace, he's too strong for us to last very long."
